#kobloid

[fckingbard]

@kobloid​

“Believe what you like, girl. I’ve SEEN a golden dragon. Once I’ve got this down, half the Continent will believe it too. Just you wait.” 

[snarkomancy]

@kobloid cont. from here

Philippa watches the girl release the snake through narrowed eyes, pupils narrowing to pinpricks as she watches the reptile make its way through the long grass, both at ease with and ashamed of the atavistic instinct that the image awakens in her. How long has it been since she hunted, dealt swift death on silent wings? She’s itching to change, to fly, to rid herself of the unease that has settled into her bones.

The sorceress shakes her head, a quick, birdlike motion, an attempt at clearing her thoughts.

She steps closer, places her hands on Angouleme’s shoulders.

I know, little one. I know. It’s hard.

“I don’t think so, no. But there might be another one, in time, and when there is, you must be careful. When we hold on to things too tightly, we either break them or they strain to get away, never to be seen again. When you love something… the best thing to do is to set it free so it can return out of its own volition. Even if it hurts.”  

[cxmplicatedbynature]

@suhmuse​ || starter call

“Stay out of trouble,” Geralt had said, and he’s trying, he really is, after all, how much trouble can one find in a brothel? He can almost imagine Geralt’s snort of laughter, following by a gentle reminder of how his last visit to Toussant ended (or almost ended), but he’s not worried. He’s not promised Annarietta anything on this trip, except a bit of pleasure for letting the Witcher out of prison.

There’s absolutely no reason that he can’t visit whatever brothels he choses, and this one looks just perfect. 

Dandelion walks in, freezes, turns around and walks back out.

“Oh no,” he says, giving a sharp shake of his head. “I will have no more ghosts, no more. None. First Geralt, then Regis” -and he’s still recovering from that, since the Vampire had quite literally stepped out of the shadows at him, and Geralt (who hadn’t thought to mention that their friend was back) had only laughed- “I will not be seeing anymore ghosts today. No.” 

Particularly not Angouleme, not given what he’d learned about her from the Countess de Stael. No, she’s dead, gone, and he’s almost happier if she stays that way (is the biggest lie he’s ever told himself).

[zagubionywilk]

@kobloid​  --   places a pair of crocs as an offering.

                                                        unprompted ask

               >> ⚔️ <<               HE LOOKS DOWN AT THE CROCS FOR A MOMENT,    a little unsure what to do with them at first.  he   RECALLED    dandelion spouting how these shoes were the   BANE   of fashion but   . .   what was so wrong with them    ??    they looked rather comfortable.   was he around   ??    no.   he could do   WHATEVER   he wanted to do right now.  he hums   THANKS   to ange ‘fore he shifts to take one of the black and grey   spiked    crocs and slid one after the other   ONTO    his feet.

what a   GIFT.

             ❝       . .   what do you think   ??      ❞          (   yes he’s wearing socks with them.   )         

[etgramen]

places a pair of crocs as an offering.

   WELL, as they say, fight fire with fire. 

      he slips on a pair of white ankle-high SOCKS before graciously putting them on and leaning back comfortably in the nearest chair ,  a smug grin on his features . 

[starszakrewsaysbye]

your future needs you. your past doesn’t.

“Leave     me     be,     wench.     I     wish     to     be     alone.”     Stygga     still     stank     of     rotting,     dead     flesh     somehow,     even     all     these     years     later.     Dirt     is     caked     beneath     her     nails,     coating     her     knees     and     the     palms     of     her     hands     as     she     kneels     before     each     of     the     graves     she’d     dug     so     long     ago.     She     can     feel     their     presence,     can     see     the     hansa     crowded     together     just     out     of     the     corner     of     her     eye,     but     every     time     she     turns     to     look     they’re     gone.     Wench     may     have     been     a     tad     rude,     Ciri.     “I’ll     never     stop,     you     know.     I’ll     probably     come     here     every     year,     on     this     day,     till     I     die.     Maybe     I’ll     even     die     here,     and     my     flesh     will     rot     into     the     ground     and     my     bones     will     turn     to     dust     and     𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔     𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍     𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒘     𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆     𝑰     𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆     𝒘𝒂𝒔.”     Her     words     are     spat     out,     knowing     full     well     the     world     will     chew     her     up     and     spit     her     out     long     before     flowers     grow     from     her     bones.     Slim     fingers     yank     weeds     from     Regis’     grave,     silvery     grey     brows     furrowing     momentarily     at     how     the     dirt     seemed     disturbed     before     brushing     the     thought     and     moving     on     to     the     next.    

“There     is     neither     the     past,     nor     the     present,     nor     the     future     anymore.”     You’re     a     liar,     Cirilla.     “There     is     no     now,     there     is     no     then,     I     just     am.     Every     day     I     see     you     all     dying     and     I     smell     lilac     and     bloody     gooseberries     and     I     feel     Geralt’s     blood     on     my     hands     and     it     all     just     builds     and     builds     and     BUILDS     until     there     is     no     me     anymore!     If     I     could     fucking     separate     it     I     WOULD     but     I     CAN’T!”     By     the     end     of     it,     she’s     shrieking,     her     voice     echoing     as     she     throws     clumps     of     dirt     at     the     figures     lingering     in     the     corner     of     her     eye.     “I     cannot     escape     the     past;     I     carry     it     with     me     into     the     future.”     Maybe,     someday,     one     day,     she’ll     wake     without     her     medallion     feeling     as     if     it     weighed     more     than     the     universe     itself.     𝑶𝒏𝒆     𝒅𝒂𝒚     𝒔𝒉𝒆     𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍     𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒆     𝒂𝒏𝒅     𝒕𝒉𝒆     𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔     𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍     𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈     𝒕𝒐     𝒉𝒆𝒓,     𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓     𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏     𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒑     𝒇𝒐𝒓     𝒉𝒆𝒓.     “I     s’pose     I’ll     be     seeing     you     all     next     year,     then.”     There     is     Ciri,     and     then     there     is     nothing,     only     a     fading     silvery-green     light     and     a     rush     of     icy     air.

@kobloid​ / accepting / sentence starters found on pinterest

[witcherpathmoved]

@kobloid​.

“So the next time that someone bothers you, you just hit’em right here.” Motioning to where her kidneys would be. “Hit’em hard enough and they’ll be pissing blood for a week.”

[cxmplicatedbynature]

     “Tell…” Angoulême’s lips moved slower and with more difficulty. “Say, you’re still a princess… In Cintra… I’ll be rewarded, right? You’ll make me… a Countess? Tell me. Do not lie… Can you? Tell me.”      “Don’t talk. Save your strength.”      Angoulême sighed, suddenly leaned forward and rested her forehead on Ciri’s shoulder.      “I knew…” She said quite clearly. “I knew a whorehouse in Toussaint was a better idea.”      It took a long time before Ciri realized that she was holding a dead girl in her arms.